The Man Behind the Moustache
by Momosportif
Summary: HevLev. Yes, that's right, HevlaskaLevier. I just went there. XD Hevlaska looks at the Inspector the day the Level Four appears, remembers the man behind the moustache, and wishes she could get him back. Character's are Hoshino's, may she get well soon!


This is dedicated to all those characters that everybody hates. Those Sakura Harunos, those Chaoji Hans, and, of course, one of the main characters of this little drabble, those Mister Malcolm C. Leviers. (or however the hell you spell the poor man's name! XD)

Someone, somewhere, loves you all. :) This time it's me.

Hope you enjoy!

-bows-

-S

* * *

I was beautiful once.

Do you remember when you were young enough for me to wish I was beautiful again?

I think I could still ensnare you now.

The way you said my name… the same way you said it when you were young enough for us to wish I still had arms you fit in. You say it louder than all the words around it because you're trying to do just he opposite or say them all the same or avoid saying it all together so it comes out loud.

I could still ensnare you now.

Do you remember the first time you said it? When you were young enough to take a smack across the face but old enough to keep your hurt in your eyes until you were alone?

But you never were alone, were you.

You said it in an accusation. You meant to make me cry as if I'd been smacked across the face but all you did was make me up after being asleep to the world where I was beautiful once and I was fifty years ahead of you in knowing how not to cry.

I was alive again.

You took it well for a tiny thing. And the way you fixed me with those sharp, sharp eyes… You knew that I could see again.

You fascinated me.

I could see how deep you were in anger and rules and corruption. I could see how free you were from anger and rules and corruption. You were the definition of hope, though my definition and your father's were different, and I decided to begin a game that day to see who was right and if there really was good in the brain of the body I served.

And you played along.

I was your night light those days. Do you remember? Sitting with your back against the rail, your back to me, and talking in your quiet voice and crying so hard it made you sick once. I don't think you were sure that I could hear you. If I couldn't, all was well, but you were alone; if I could, your rules were broken, everything was over, but at least someone knew.

And you were never alone, were you.

I fascinated you.

Fifty years pushed forward with days where you looked so pointedly away you were staring and tried to say my name so inconspicuously you screamed it and nights where you slowly went from a huddled boy to a straight-backed man until you turned to face me.

Do you remember? That night? You stood at the rail and let my light kiss your face and fixed me with those sharp, sharp eyes.

You reached out.

You touched me.

Almost.

Then you told me everything while your hand fell back. And I answered. Do you remember?

I told you I was beautiful once.

You said you believed me.

"Once?" you said, "Once?"

Fifty years was not too much for love.

Do you remember when you were old enough to realize that you wished you could hold me, wished I was small like I used to be, that I could fit in your arms like I would have, perfectly? I still had lips, but a gentleman could never… do you remember when you were a gentleman?

I won for twenty years after fifty, twenty-four years after fifty. I won, but the game wasn't over.

You brought me cakes and I wished I could smell. You brought me secrets and I wished I had a place to hear them whispered into. You brought me a special silence and I wished I could taste. You brought me a million carefully preserved caresses and I wished I had the skin to receive them. But all we could do was see and eat each other with our eyes and speak of the surplus of wishes I had no way to steal from the stars.

Do you remember? Being happy?

Do you remember who told you to give the stubble a chance to become a moustache? Who told you it was handsome?

For twenty five years and then… The night before I learned that I had lost you were twenty-five and you told me in your quiet voice with soft, soft eyes that I was still beautiful.

I wished I could hold you and never let go and perhaps I wished too hard, perhaps it came true because I never saw you in the shadows again.

I lost.

I lost, I lost, I lost.

Fascination was not enough. Love was not enough. Fifty years defeated was not enough.

Do you remember when you were old enough to give a slap across the face but wise enough to look on in approval as he kept his hurt in his eyes?

Do you remember when you succeeded? When you finally managed to hurt me, and it was without any petty accusation but with those sharp, sharp eyes.

And I never wanted to see again, I squeezed them shut and tried to fall asleep to the world where I was beautiful once, where I belonged once, where I lost a man to anger and rules and corruption.

Until tonight when you said my name so darkly it was as bright as a star (I made a wish), I woke up.

And the way you fixed me with those sharp, sharp eyes.

I knew the game wasn't over (I hoped it came true).

Here you are, walking slowly but I've waited so long it's nothing, nothing.

Do you remember? Do you remember?

You stand at the rail. Let my light kiss your face. Fix me with those.

Sharp.

Sharp.

Eyes.

You reach out.

You touch me…

"Well done today." You touch me. "I was worried for a moment there… You would be a pricey casualty." You look away while your hand falls back.

"I… was beautiful once."

It comes out hoarsely.

You smile- my little boy- your nightlight- fifty years after fifty- yours-

"Once?" you whisper, "Once?"

Let your light kiss my face.

Then you vanish.

You remember? You remember?

If you remember… the girl who was beautiful once, who told you to give the stubble a chance… if you remember, Malcolm… will you shave it for her?


End file.
